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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921119">The Most Amazing Thing in the World</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/madscientist1313/pseuds/madscientist1313'>madscientist1313</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cockblocking, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hot Chocolate, Snow Day, Sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:48:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23921119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/madscientist1313/pseuds/madscientist1313</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The cold puts Bucky in a <i>mood</i>, leaving you to play out your snow day with a certain blond god – <i>giant cockblock</i> – as your mopey super soldier slinks off to brood.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Most Amazing Thing in the World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written for @fanfictionaries Tropes Challenge on Tumblr. Given prompt... <b>Snowed In</b>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Snow. The whole of the outside world is covered in brilliant, blinding depths of pristine white snow. It’s stunning, dazzling, brilliant. And Bucky absolutely <em>hates</em> it.</p>
<p>Even just the <em>thought</em> of a cold front moving through is enough to set him in a sulk that lasts for days. Weeks. It’s the reason Tony had to have the Weather Channel blocked from their lineup.</p>
<p>Back in March, an early spring nor’easter blew through upstate New York, absolutely pounding the compound, and Bucky spent the entirety of the blizzard either wandering the halls, muttering curses in Russian, or holed up in the common room cleaning not only <em>his</em> <em>own</em> guns and knives, but <em>every single </em>weapon in the Avenger’s arsenal… also whilst mumbling and cursing in Russian.</p>
<p>Steve worried he was suffering some kind of ongoing flashback. Natasha complained that he was simply being a giant damn baby. Sam lamented the fact that they might have to put him down. But you… you simply followed him around the compound with a fluffy blanket to toss over his shoulders, settling in to drink hot tea beside him once he sat down to clean.</p>
<p>The truth is, Bucky Barnes had <em>never</em> liked the cold. Growing up in a bit of a shithole apartment in Brooklyn meant that – more often than not – the boiler would go out the moment winter hit and he’d be forced to sleep snuggled in a tight ball with his little sisters, winding himself into a protective outer layer to conserve all the warmth for them. Walking to and from school in the freezing temps all too often meant giving up his winter coat for Steve – cloaking the frail boy in an extra layer in an attempt to ward off pneumonia – while <em>he</em> shuffled through the snow in old, worn boots and as many sweaters as would fit on his body. And work never stopped for the cold either, all of the odd jobs picked up to help support his family – trudging around town making deliveries for the seamstress, butcher, the guys who ran <em>some</em> sort of business out of the back of the butcher shop – continued despite the bitter city winds and bone chilling temperatures.</p>
<p>And that was all <em>before</em> he suffered through collapsing foxholes in the dead of a European winter – depths of snow obscuring mortars and limbs in the Ardennes – and decades of being languidly pulled in and out of dreamless slumber as he lingered in an ice-filled tomb tucked away in the blindingly desolate depths of Siberia.</p>
<p>Snow was little more than a bitter reminder of the pain he felt so long ago… the pain he was sadly certain would one day return.</p>
<p>Snow most certainly was <em>not</em>… “The most amazing thing in the world!”</p>
<p>His head snaps to the right so fast that a loud <em>crack-pop</em> reverberates through the room, twitching your face into a disgusted grimace, your nose crinkling in revulsion as you turn away from the window and watch him bend his neck awkwardly to release another small snap. He rolls his eyes at your expression and lets out a weary sigh, returning his empty gaze to the window as his breath fogs the glass. “No. It’s not.”</p>
<p>You drop a loud snort and fold your arms tightly over your chest as you glare at him. “You can’t possibly think this is a bad thing.”</p>
<p>He cocks his head towards you, confusion wrinkling his brow. You know how much he hates the cold. You’ve known him long enough – well enough – to understand why. And unlike so many of the others around here – Steve always telling him to quit moping, Sam poking fun and calling him <em>ice princess </em>the minute the weather starts to change – you’ve never once tried to get him to get over it.</p>
<p>Your arms unfurl as you take a step a closer to the man by your side, your hands – <em>warm</em> hands – reaching over and gathering his clenched fists, allowing no more than a breath of a moment to pass before peeling his fingers apart and winding them with your own. “Steve and Nat and Sam are on a mission in Costa Rica,” you remind him subtly.</p>
<p>“Lucky bastards,” he interrupts, bitterness lacing the words.</p>
<p>Your fingers tighten around his as you go on, sly, crooked smile pulling across your face. “Tony and Bruce are at some kind of <em>science </em>conference… somewhere.” The cavernous wrinkle between his brows begins to flatten out, a bit of dreamy blue breaking through the gray of his stormy eyes as he starts to catch on. You take half a step closer, chests not quite touching, but warmth still radiating across the limited space separating your bodies. “Clint took Vision and Wanda into the city this morning, something about testing powers with Stark tech at the tower,” you offer with a shrug before looking up and locking onto his still curious gaze, offering a rather sultry one of your own. “And now… with all this snow… there’s no way that <em>any of them</em> will be able to make it back tonight.”</p>
<p>A small grin tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looks down at you. “You’re saying… for once… we’re actually alone?”</p>
<p>You nod, pulling yourself up on your tiptoes to swiftly swipe the tip of your nose against his, finally pressing your oh-so-warm body up against him. And you whisper, “That’s what this snow gave us. Now, tell me again how it’s not the most amazing thing in the world?”</p>
<p>His countenance cracks even further, no longer showing even a trace of the doom and gloom from just moments before. “S’not,” he murmurs, unwinding from your fingers and dropping his hands to your hips. He gives a small tug, bringing you utterly flush with him, and he gazes deeply into your eyes in that way that makes your insides shudder. “<em>Definitely</em> not the most amazing thing.”</p>
<p>“Ooo,” you intone lightly, playfully. “Such a charmer. What would the rest of the team think if they knew you were such a sap?”</p>
<p>He shakes his head languidly back and forth, the motion extending down to his hands plastered to your hips as well, pulling you in a subtle sway. “They’ll never know. S’not for them to know.” And he leans in, delicately parting your lips with his own.</p>
<p>The kiss is sweet and lingering and speaks of having all the time in the world. A rarity for the two of you – outside of your rooms, at least – being as you’re typically forced into swift and fervid lip locks that knock the breath from your lungs. Fast and aching and yearning for more as one or the other of you presses into the wall in a dark corner of the compound hard enough to pepper your backs with bruises. Stolen kisses take the shape of clashing teeth, pounding lips, desperately squirming hips, all held together by the deliciously perilous threat of being found out.</p>
<p>But now… now there’s no one around. There’s no lingering danger nor press of time. No upcoming mission to prepare for, nor debrief to hurry off to. No Steve about to knock at the door in hopes of an early morning run, nor Natasha silently sweeping through the halls like some kind of ninja ghost. Now, there is only you and him and the silent still of a snow-covered morning offering the sweet, tender promise of –</p>
<p>“Lady Agent?!”</p>
<p>The thick, heavy bellow reverberates in from the hall, swift plodding footsteps echoing behind it. Bucky’s eyes shoot wide and he not only releases your hips – and your lips – but actually shoves you away, setting you to stumble. “Fucking <em>Thor</em>,” he bemoans, swiping a hand over his mouth before shoving it madly through his hair.</p>
<p>“Sergeant Winter?!” sounds from just outside the common room door, the rather jumbled handle pulling a sudden snicker from you and a frustrated groan from Bucky. “Surely someone remains,” the god laments piercingly, his cries sounding almost frightened.</p>
<p>You choke back a laugh – mostly at the mess of a man in front of you, now shaking out his hands and pacing as though trying to rid himself of a years’ worth of pent up <em>energy</em> – and you call out, “In here.”</p>
<p>Thor turns the corner and enters the room with a delighted swagger and such a wide smile of relief on his face that you feel a little tug and pull in your chest. This poor giant of a man – a <em>god</em> – has spent the better part of the past month following each of you around in turn, just <em>trying</em> to break into the rather tightknit group you all had formed in his absence. He trains with the Avengers, fights with the Avengers, but actually <em>fitting in</em> with the Avengers has been proving difficult for the God of Thunder, the scent of his desperation flooding the compound and setting eyes to roll and exasperated glances and glares to proliferate.</p>
<p>Still, as annoying as he can sometimes be – tagging along for debriefs he has no need to attend, showing up for movie nights to which he’s not exactly invited – you see his struggle for what it truly is. He’s a man bereft of family and home, simply searching for a place he might belong. And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t break your heart.</p>
<p>“Ah, most excellent!” the hulking blond enthuses, making a beeline for you. “I was beginning to wonder if it was only I and…” – he flings a haphazard hand through the air – “the woman in the walls.” He positively beams as he steps in between you and Bucky, pressing his nose to the glass of the window as he looks out over the snow-covered grounds. “Have you seen, Lady Agent?! The world is covered in the most blissfully brilliant white!”</p>
<p>Bucky offers an indignant snort from over his shoulder. “No snow where you’re from?” he asks with a low, vexed tenor.</p>
<p>If Thor notices his irritation, he doesn’t let it show, huge grin still plastered to his face as he replies, “In Asgard? No, of course not. It is perfectly temperate year-round.”</p>
<p>“Of course it is,” he mutters.</p>
<p>“I have seen this <em>snow</em> many a time on my travels to Midgard. But rarely so much. And so… undisturbed. It is quite beautiful, wouldn’t you say?”</p>
<p>You nod, the corner of your mouth ticking up in a crooked grin as you shoot a quick wink over at Bucky, only to find that he’s once again taken on the slumped posture and bitter demeanor that he’s managed to become known for around here. “It certainly is,” you tell Thor, your eyes lingering on Bucky for a long moment as you fight off the thick and sudden sense of discontent curling in your gut.</p>
<p>“Are there no others here?” he asks, eyes still plastered to the outside.</p>
<p>You sigh. “Nope, just us. And Friday said that the surrounding roads are shut down for now, so doesn’t look like anyone will be back any time soon.”</p>
<p>“Well, then,” he starts, stepping away from the window and leaving a giant steamy smear from his face. He looks to you with something akin to glee, and you feel your disappointment at Bucky’s mood begin to wane. “What shall we do with our day?” he asks, oozing a sort of childlike enthusiasm.</p>
<p>You smile wide, a massive toothy grin splitting your face in two. “Thor,” you start, slow and drawn out, the name stretched methodically, voice taking on that very specific air that only comes about when you have a <em>plan</em>. Bucky feels his heart drop to his shoes as he hears the shift in tone, watches the impish expression take over your face. Whatever this is – he’s certain – it won’t be good. “Have you ever experienced an old fashioned <em>snow day</em>?</p>
<p>000</p>
<p>Four hours later and Bucky’s barely seen you at all – save for a quick meal of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches that you used your long-lashed doe eyes to convince him to fix for you and your new BFF – until he peers out the wall of windows in the common room and catches you awkwardly climbing through the foot-deep snow below, holding tightly to the arm and shoulder of a bundled-up <em>god</em> as he trudges alongside. He watches closely, watches as you struggle to find footing, falling and laughing, your face lit with such delight that he thinks he can almost hear your high-pitched giggles from behind the reinforced glass, two stories above. Thor winds his arms around your middle and hauls you to him, only seeming to realize that clomping through the snow as a single four-legged unit is pointless the minute he goes down beside you, faceplanting in the thick, white fluff.</p>
<p>Bucky smirks as the massive blond jerks upright and sputters, shaking the snow from his hair. But his expression changes on a dime – dropping back into that sullen, somber, perhaps even angry scowl that has sat so comfortably on his face ever since that giant cockblock rolled in – when he watches Thor pick you up, plucking you easily from the deep snow, and throwing you over his shoulder before trudging further out from the building.</p>
<p>At some point you stop, demanding that your giant companion put you down, which he does by tossing you into an even deeper drift, the thrill of flying and fun of landing in the delightfully powdery snow causing you to ask him to do it again – several more times – before the laughter finally subsides and you decide to get down to business. You flop backwards, laying flat in the snow and demanding that Thor do the same. And you show him precisely how to move his arms and legs about to create the perfect – just absolutely <em>perfectly</em> deep and symmetrical – snow angel. And while swimming about in fresh giggles and joy and soft, crunchy snow, you look up to the window where you’d caught a glimpse of Bucky perched just moments before, your red face beaming with a euphoric, toothy grin.</p>
<p>But he’s no where to be seen.</p>
<p>By the time you finally come back in – just after a rather disastrous snow ball fight leaves you with what you’re certain is quickly blooming into an angry welt on your ass – the sun has all but disappeared beyond the horizon, leaving the deep blue twilight butting up against the sparkling sheen of pure white. You shiver as you shed your thick winter coat in the atrium – vowing to come back for the sopping mess later lest Tony finds it and blows another gasket about the messy <em>heathens</em> he so graciously houses – the blistery winds whipping through the indoors for a moment before Thor wrestles the door shut. The cold sizzles along the tops of your ears and tips of your fingers, hat and gloves soaked through and thick with slush. You tug them off and drop them on the floor by your coat, order Thor to do the same.</p>
<p>Once in the elevator, you tell him to go thaw out in a hot shower… one of the most integral pieces of this snow day routine. You step out into the hall that leads to both of your rooms and spin to level him with a pointed stare. “When you’re done,” you say, tone terribly commanding despite being punctuated by soft, snotty sniffles, “Come back to the common room and we’ll have hot chocolate. A snow day’s not a snow day if it doesn’t end with cocoa.”</p>
<p>He nods in agreement, but says nothing, the rather enthusiastic yet slightly confused look that twists his features being by now an all too familiar sight. You let out a breathy chuckle and shuffle past his room, not at all surprised when he refuses to stop at his door, instead insisting – wordlessly – on showing you to your room before backtracking to his own.</p>
<p>You thank him with a nod – admittedly charmed by his gentlemanly actions – and slip into your dark dormitory only to be met with a low growl of, “Hey doll,” that causes you to jump and shriek in surprise.</p>
<p>“Jesus, Bucky! You scared me,” you breathe out, hand flying to your chest.</p>
<p>You flip on the light in time to catch his smirk. “Figured an Avenger would have better instincts than that,” he smarts from his spot on the corner of your bed. “I left the door unlocked… not exactly hiding that I’m here.”</p>
<p>You roll your eyes. “First of all, you’re sitting in the dark, so… <em>hiding</em>. And also, I’m not <em>technically</em> an Avenger,” you argue, hopping on one foot as you struggle to free yourself from a soggy boot. “Just… adjacent personnel.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he intones, rising from the bed and crossing the room to help. “<em>Lady Agent</em>, is it?” he mocks with a scoff as he gives you a gentle shove back into the wall and takes over wrestling the boot from your foot.</p>
<p>You lean back heavily, switching feet to raise the other once he frees you, and let out a small chortle. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”</p>
<p>The second boot pops off with a jarring smack and Bucky stumbles back as it almost hits him in the face. He snorts loudly and angrily chucks the shoe across the room before turning back to you with a raised brow. “I don’t get <em>jealous</em>,” he says, a challenging note to his voice.</p>
<p>You drop an indignant snort as you reach down to peel off a single, sloppy sock. Rising, you peer up at him, eyes narrowing as you take in his oddly contemplative stare. He doesn’t seem angry, nor upset in any way, really. He just looks… confused.</p>
<p>“<em>Should</em> I be jealous?” he asks then, the words slipping past his lips in a soft, hesitant tone.</p>
<p>You huff out a breath and throw the sock at him, barking a quick laugh when it slaps him in the cheek, landing with a thick, wet splat. The tentativeness falls from his face, expression filling instead with an irritated sort of impatience. That same scowl he’d been wearing earlier – when you zipped up your parka and pulled on your hat and told him that you were declaring today a snow day – returns full force. “Man,” you mutter, shaking your head as you awkwardly tug off the other sock. “Sometimes you can be a real dick, ya know?”</p>
<p>You stumble a bit, hopping on one foot in a small circle as you try to maintain your balance. Bucky rolls his eyes, purses his lips, and steps over to steady you, one firm hand clamping down on your shoulder to hold you in place while you pull off the sock with a squelch. He doesn’t let go once you regain your footing, instead clenching his fingers tighter as he bites out, “He doesn’t even know your name.”</p>
<p>You shrug. “Doesn’t always seem like you do, either,” you smart, accusatory brow raised high. His eyes narrow suspiciously – confoundedly – and you huff out a long and languid sigh before collapsing forward into him. Your arms wrap around his neck as you let him bear the brunt of your weight – whether he wants to or not – your spent, numb limbs tingling uselessly in your damp clothes. His shoulders stiffen beneath you and you respond by snuggling closer, burrowing your face into his neck and grinning wildly when he bucks at the touch of your bitterly cold nose. “<em>Doll</em>,” you mock thickly, the word nearly eaten up by the flesh covering his bobbing throat as your lips linger near his Adam’s apple. “<em>Baby, Sweetheart, Darlin’</em>.”</p>
<p>His shoulders relax and he sighs out into your damp hair, arms slowly winding around your middle, tugging you close and holding you tightly to his chest. “I can start calling your <em>Agent</em>, if you want. Or, I don’t know, <em>Ice Queen</em>?”</p>
<p>You pull back abruptly, leaning away whilst still penned in by his arms, staring at him in something akin to horror. “I think we all know who the real<em> Ice Queen</em> is here, Barnes,” you snipe.</p>
<p>Maybe it’s wrong – hell it must be because <em>everything </em>he thinks and feels and does seems to be wrong nowadays – but seeing you get riled up, watching that angry fire creep into your eyes, that smug tilt to your chin as you go on to accuse him of being <em>so rude to Thor</em>, well damn if it doesn’t cause a lighthearted rumble of a laugh to bubble up his chest and a crooked smile to spill across his lips. “I just meant…” he interrupts swiftly, cutting off your complaint of <em>just wanted to play in the snow</em> with a shushing press of his metal index finger to your lips, “because you’re <em>freezing</em>, doll face.”</p>
<p>You roll your eyes languidly, irritation still present in your pinched features, but beginning to melt into a reluctant fondness. “Doll face… <em>psh</em>. Why not just call me <em>honey bear</em> or <em>baby cakes</em>?”</p>
<p>“Alright, honey bear,” he intones with a bit of a glint in his eye. “You gonna peel these wet clothes off or just die in my arms from hypothermia?”</p>
<p>You raise a brow. “Those are my only choices?”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “You got a better suggestion?”</p>
<p>A deep and dramatic frown rolls over your face – more than a bit overdone – and you unclasp your hands from around his neck, begin to futz pathetically with the zipper of your hoodie. “My fingers are numb,” you whine “I <em>can’t</em>.”</p>
<p>“Okay.” He unfurls his arms from around you, looks down at your attire and reaches out to languidly tug down the zipper of the sweatshirt, slowly, delicately, inch by inch, while his metal fingers make their way beneath your top and swiftly pop the button of your jeans, single index finger lazily pressing the zippered fly down. Once done, he steps back and stares, blank expression on his face as he raises both brows assessingly and says simply, “There you go.”</p>
<p>You continue to pout, hands rising and swiping awkwardly – pitifully – for him across the nearly negligible distance separating you. “My feet are numb,” you whimper. “Carry me.”</p>
<p>It comes out as a command – a rather whiny, juvenile command, but a command none the less. And damn if that doesn’t cause his whole expression to shift, teasingly aloof demeanor fleeing in an instant as he chokes on a laugh. “Carry you?”</p>
<p>You merely nod in response, wasting no time at all leaping forward, clutching his shoulders and forcing yourself on him, chests colliding and driving a thick <em>oof</em> from his mouth in lieu of the laughter as you wrap yourself around him like an overgrown spider monkey, latching on and locking your ankles at the small of his back. “Carry me,” you say again, once more dropping your face – and that that damn cold nose, those frost-bruised cheeks – into the crook of his neck.</p>
<p>“Okay, baby bear,” he teases lightly, voice soft and melodic and smooth like melted honey as his metal arm sweeps beneath your ass to haul you higher. “Let’s get you in the shower.”</p>
<p>You let him carry you back to the ensuite, clinging to him even as he reaches into the shower to turn on the water, an awkward feat that he manages with a surprising amount of grace and not a word of complaint, a thing that makes your smile burn even brighter as you continue to press into his warm and inviting neck. He settles you down onto the bathroom counter as the water heats up, steam already beginning to billow out and cloud the mirror behind you.</p>
<p>You watch as he makes a move to pull off his Henley, simultaneously toeing off his thick-soled boots. And you settle your still-chilled hands over the tops of his to halt his movements. “Uh-uh,” you hum dully, returning his confused glance with an almost reprimanding one of your own. “You’re not forgiven yet.”</p>
<p>“Forgiven for <em>what</em>?” he bites out, irritation blooming in the corners of his narrowed eyes.</p>
<p>You grasp his face lightly, fingers dragging across the achingly familiar scruff lining his jaw, thumbs scratching lazily at the stubble on his chin. His muscles instantly loosen beneath your fingertips, clenched jaw dropping, lips parting for the briefest of moments before he closes his eyes and shifts in your hold, pressing a lingering kiss to the pad of your thumb.</p>
<p>“You need to go make hot cocoa,” you say then, voice cutting through the rumbling of the running water and steady, swooshing pulse of your blood rushing in your ears. He looks back at you, deep blue eyes darkened with desire, and for a moment you think you may have lost the upper hand. “Please?” you ask primly, sweetly, cocking your head to the side as you continue to hold his in your faltering grip.</p>
<p>“Hot cocoa?” he breathes out, dubious brow raised high.</p>
<p>You nod. “Every snow day ends with cocoa.”</p>
<p>He sighs and drops his head heavily onto your shoulder, his own hands splaying out on the countertop on either side of your hips. “Okay,” he laments softly, patting your thigh as he pulls himself upright. “Hot cocoa.”</p>
<p>He turns to leave, no more than a half a step out the bathroom door when you mention brightly, “And make a lot. You know how Thor gets around Midgardian food and drink.”</p>
<p>000</p>
<p>“The snow people,” Thor begins again, slapping his knee as a loud guffaw spills from his lips. “I had never heard of such a thing! But, so wonderous! Imagine,” he says, vivid stare locking onto Bucky as he reenters the room, “taking that… that… <em>snow</em> and building <em>men</em>!” He shakes his head fondly, wistfully. “Ah, and it held together so well. Like icy clay. Just wonderful.”</p>
<p>“You did a hell of a job,” you tell him, nodding gratefully at Bucky as he hands you another cup of cocoa. “There’s a whole damn army of snowmen out there now. Probably better security than anything Tony could build.”</p>
<p>“Ha!” he barks. “Indeed!” He turns to Bucky accepting a fourth mug for himself. “Have you seen them? Just out the window there… our snow warriors.”</p>
<p>Bucky offers him a stiff, closed-lip smile – all the acknowledgement he’s willing to give – and heads back to the kitchenette to mope.</p>
<p>“It is quite a delicious drink,” the blond god enthuses as he slurps indelicately, turning back to you. “Chocolate, but… <em>hot</em>. Remarkable!”</p>
<p>You take another sip from your cup, feeling your insides warm as the thick, hot treat slips down your throat. “When I was a kid, my mom would always make us cocoa when it snowed. Even when we were all grown up and home visiting from college.” A wistful smile pulls across your face, features softening and glowing in the burning orange light cast by the fireplace as you reminisce about those days long since gone.</p>
<p>Thor watches you closely, his own face relaxing in pace with yours. “When I was a child, my mother would have the servants brew barrels and barrels of mead, which we would roll out to the hills and drink dry.” He chortles a bit as a melancholy air envelopes the room. “Mother would come out to gather us in the evening, hurrying us home as we tripped and stumbled and played.” He meets your eyes for just a fraction of a second before dropping his gaze down to the drink in his hands. “She would always make sure we arrived back home safely, neatly tucked into bed as the mead made our heads spin.”</p>
<p>“Wait,” Bucky, murmurs, suddenly looming above you both. You look up at his perplexed visage from the nest of blankets built up beneath you on the floor. “You were drunk? As kids? Your mom gave you beer?”</p>
<p>Thor snuggles deeper into his own warm cocoon and glances up at Bucky with the smallest – and saddest – of smiles. “She did, yes. A wonderful mother indeed.”</p>
<p>You reach out and lay an open palm atop his fleece-clad knee – one he quickly sweeps into his own large hand to squeeze with a grateful air – while glaring at Bucky with a raised and warning brow. <em>Don’t make fun</em>, it says. <em>He was raised in a different culture</em>.</p>
<p>Bucky sighs and offers a glare of his own – <em>Still weird as fuck.</em> – before dropping heavily onto the sofa behind you.</p>
<p>The three of you sit in silence for several long moments… Thor, watching the flames flicker in the fireplace as he continues to grip your hand in a silent plea for strength, for comfort. You, staring idly at the side of his face, gently tracing your thumb over his knuckles, lending what little solace you can. Bucky, squishing into the corner of the couch, as far from you as he can possibly get, watching the interaction from the corner of his eye, feigning disinterest.</p>
<p>A long, drawn-out yawn pulls suddenly from your chest, causing Thor’s attention to snap your way. “You should go rest,” he says with a soft smile. “I must thank you for such a wonderful day. It did quite a lot to lift my spirits.” He pulls your hand up to his lips and lays a tender kiss upon your knuckles. “Truly. Thank you.”</p>
<p>You beam over at him, a slight blush tinging your cheeks. “Anytime,” you mutter with a small, awkward laugh as you set aside your mug and peel your way out of the blankets nestled around you. Bucky leans over and helps you unwind them, wrapping his hand around your ankle as you stand, foot catching clumsily. He says nothing, just flicks away the offending blanket and sets you steadily back on the ground so you can continue on your way. You give him a quick nod of thanks, blush somehow burning brighter when you catch a glimpse of his lovely face tinged orange by the dancing firelight. And you leave, more than ready to curl up into a heap in your warm bed… and await the subtle press of that other body’s heat that so often curls around you once all the others at the compound slink off to bed.</p>
<p>Both Bucky and Thor watch you go, your thick-socked feet sliding and gliding out the door in an innocent ice dance, pulling a tender, loving smile from one and an amused, low chuckle from the other.</p>
<p>“She is rather wonderful, don’t you think?” Thor asks after a long and silent moment. He turns to look at Bucky with an oddly eager expression. “All of the Avengers have been… kind. But none so welcoming. So… caring.”</p>
<p>He nods absently, taking a slow pull from his own mug of cocoa. “Yeah, I guess so.”</p>
<p>“Was she such a way with you?” he asks, words dripping with an almost unprecedented level of solemnity from the typically jovial god.</p>
<p>Bucky stares at him for a beat, silently assessing <em>something </em>about him. Or, perhaps, something else altogether. “Yeah,” he says finally, another nod bobbing his head. “Yeah, she was. Might’ve been the only one, really… who seemed to…” he shrugs vaguely. “I don’t know, <em>care</em>.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t the Captain your dearest friend?”</p>
<p>“He is, yeah.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “But Steve… he’s always looking for the guy I <em>used </em>to be. He’s always looking for Bucky Barnes, the kid from Brooklyn. Sometimes it’s like he looks straight through <em>me</em>, just searching for him.”</p>
<p>“And I suppose the others look for the soldier in you,” he offers with a glaring amount of earnestness. “That is who they need on this team, no?” Bucky glances at him, cocks his head, but says nothing. “They always look for the <em>god</em> in me,” he mutters, shifting his gaze back to the fireplace. “To bring down the hammer, as Stark seems so fond of saying.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs softly, the single word swimming in mutual understanding.</p>
<p>Thor turns to him again, shifting to face him bodily. His expression is impassive – sincere – as he says, “It is late, my friend. Perhaps you too should go.” A tiny, sly smile ticks up the corners of his lips. “Go find your lady and make love to her before she falls asleep.” He offers a swift and telling wink and a, “Thank you. For the cocoa,” before turning his attention back to the fire and nestling down deeper into his blankets.</p>
<p>Bucky says nothing at all, stunned speechless for a long moment before the buzzing between his ears halts and he’s able to climb off of the couch. He silently pads from the room, down the hall – with practiced, measured steps – not at all surprised to find your door left ajar.</p>
<p>He slips in soundlessly, just like any other night, and sheds his shoes and socks in the corner, peels off his jeans and shirt. He drops a knee to the edge of your bed, prepares to crawl in and slink beneath the covers, wrap himself around you, peck softly at your neck until he’s met with that delicate, airy giggle that he so desperately craves. But he stops suddenly as his eyes catch a glare from the window.</p>
<p>He pulls back and crosses the room to tug the curtains shut, a thing you so rarely think to do despite the fact that anyone who wanted could peer right into your room. As his fingers close on the thick fabric, he glances out the window, taking in the reflection of the moon on the snow-covered trees, the blanketed grounds… seeing also the reflection of your face in the window pane, features soft and sleepy, heavy lids blinking languidly as you watch him, patiently waiting.</p>
<p>He nods slowly, gaze arcing out over the pristine grounds below before settling back on the reflection of your barely open eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes out, scarcely a whisper, his breath fogging the glass. The smallest, most tender smile tugs at his lips as he pulls the curtains closed. “The most amazing thing in the world.”</p>
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